


Starsky & Hutch Never Had to Deal With Water Retention

by bunnymaccool



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Get Together, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, NOT an established relationship, Pregnant Dean, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, but it's very very light, graphic depiction of birth, sort of NON/CON in that pregnancy caused by magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnymaccool/pseuds/bunnymaccool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post series AU-ish, A powerful old witch casts a spell to create a child of heaven and hell. It takes Dean a couple weeks to figure out just exactly what she meant by that, and by then he's got to deal with morning sickness, convincing Sam and Bobby that he's actually 'in the family way' ... and telling his own brother that he's the baby daddy. Then it's nine months of Bobby becoming a mother hen, Sam going all Alpha-male crazy ... and, oh yeah, dealing with a pregnancy that might actually kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starsky & Hutch Never Had to Deal With Water Retention

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING!!! Brief mention of past harm to infants. Infant death. Blame the witch. Sorry if it's triggery.

Dean really hated witches. Seriously. Hate. Hatred. Loathing. Bad, bad evil feelings towards. No joke. Especially when they somehow managed to sneak up and whammy him and Sam from behind. That shit really pissed him off. He had honestly lost track of the number of times in his life he’d woken up groggy and trussed up like a turkey with a witch (or two or three or a coven) spewing words in his face. It was old the second time. It was old _this_ time. 

It took a couple moments for his vision to clear when he arrived at consciousness. Wherever he was it was dark and dank. Didn’t smell so great either. There were candles flickering on a massive old table in the corner of what appeared to be a basement. _What was it with witches and basements, anyway? Was that in the witches handbook?_

Rule #1 Find scummiest, creepiest basement available.  
Rule #2 Invest in a lot of candles.  
Rule # 3 Annoy the fuck out of Dean Winchester. 

There was a shuffle of noise to his left and Dean considered his options. There was a pull of pain in his arms and cold metal around his wrists. _Great._ Hanging from the ceiling in chains. _Always a good time._ His toes were barely scuffing the ground, which meant all of his weight was being forced on his wrists and shoulders. And HELLO THERE!! _There’s_ the mind-numbing agony that usually accompanies this position! Apparently his nerves were a little slow on the uptake today. _Fabulous._

So basically, no options. 

He surreptitiously glanced to his right, and found Sammy, hanging like a giant piñata. Still blissfully unconscious and unaware. Long arms and longer legs resulting in him nearly kneeling on the floor, while Dean had to teeter on this tiptoes. _Fucker_. 

There was a deep hacking cough behind him, and the shuffling grew closer. He already knew what to expect. Knew what they’d been hunting. This wasn’t some ridiculous gaggle of girls that had seen The Craft one too many times. No, no… this was some _old school_ shit right here. A Bruja. An ancient one, at that. He’s not really sure how she ended up in Bumfuck, Indiana, but was positive it was an interesting story. 

A dirty figure slowly materialized out of the dark. Her clothes were so filthy it wasn’t really clear what color they may have started off as, her hair was tangled and gray, falling in greasy dredlocks around her face. A face mapped with deep wrinkles and scars, sunken eyes and teeth blackened with age and neglect. 

_Yeah, she was a looker alright. Smelled like the ass end of a geriatric camel, too._

The Bruja was mumbling under her breath in some variation of Spanish that Dean couldn’t recognize, and leafing through a stained spell book that looked older than the dinosaurs. She came to a rambling stop right before him and with a sudden snap, closed the book and flicked her beady gaze up to his face. Dean flinched in his restraints and tried to tilt away from her. She cackled at his movement and then reached towards him with a spindly, grimy hand. 

Fingers like twisted branches ran roughly down Dean’s side and then across his belly. He tried to suck in his stomach to keep away from her touch, but it was impossible in his current predicament. The Bruja cackled again and patted his belly once like he was a slab of meat hanging from the ceiling, then moved over towards Sam. 

Her grotesque fingers swept along the younger man’s side and stomach the same way they’d done to Dean, but somehow this made his gut clench even _more_ in fear. 

“You keep your grabby fucking hands offa him, she-bitch.”

Dean’s words were completely ignored. Instead, the old woman tutted her disapproval of something while scratching lightly at Sam’s stomach. Turning away from Sam, she shuffled her way back to the alter set up in the far corner of the room. There was a massive hammered metal bowl set in the middle that was a millennia old if it was a day. It was filled to the brim with tiny little bones that made Dean want to throw up … because he knew what they were. Knew why they’d been drawn to this case. 

There was a high infant mortality rate in this town for no explainable reason, and not long after the death of the baby … the body would disappear from the gravesite. Sammy and Bobby had figured it out eventually. That someone or something was keeping themselves alive, likely for centuries beyond their normal life span, by devouring the souls of infants. And then the infants themselves not long after. 

Sam had thrown up his breakfast and lunch after discovering that disturbing little tidbit. Dean, _himself_ , just wanted to fucking _kill_ something. _Babies._ Sure, he didn’t really care for them much himself, but innocent little fucking _babies_ , man. It pissed him off something awful. 

He was thrown back into the present when the Bruja started wailing a spell in harsh, gasping breaths. Dean still wasn’t sure what the hell language she was using, but he was pretty sure his rudimentary knowledge of Spanish picked out the words for ‘Heaven’, ‘Hell’ and ‘child.’

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

He had no clue what the freaky old crone was working on over there, and Sammy was still down for the count. Dean tugged and tested his restraints once more as the volume of the Bruja’s words rose and echoed off the dingy walls. He was so focused on the cuffs around his wrists that he almost missed her moving over to Sam once again. Chanting beneath her breath now, she began to rub one gnarled hand counter-clockwise low on Sam’s belly. 

“HEY!!”

Dean tried to kick a leg out towards her, but he was too far away. She didn’t even spare him a second’s glance. 

“HEY!! Stop touching him!”

A warm, white glow was beginning to form beneath her fingers and slowly pull away from Sam’s skin. 

“SAM! WAKE UP, DAMMIT!”

The glow had morphed into a small white orb which the Bruja slowly peeled away from Sam’s body. She held it almost reverently in front of her face, and cackled darkly. Dean tried to kick out towards her one more time. 

“Whatever that is, put it _back_ , bitch!”

She practically howled with laughter at his words and began to shuffle over towards Dean. He tilted away from her again, but she simply grasped at his belt with a surprisingly strong grip. The words were falling from her lips once again and the little orb in her hand pulsed with the power of them. 

“ _…. para devorar al hijo del cielo y el infierno…_ ”

Dean tried to jump back as her clawed fingers rucked his shirt up to reveal his belly. The hand gripping the small orb moved forward quickly and pressed itself flat against his skin. The orb was a pinprick of heat against the backdrop of the Bruja’s icy cold fingers. Dean hollered in shock as the bony fingers just continued to press harder and harder against this stomach. 

The old woman’s chanted words were becoming fiercer and louder as she pushed harder and harder against Dean’s skin. Suddenly there was an excruciating burn, and a feeling of _give_ where there should never be. His eyes widening in horror, Dean could only watch as the gnarled hand slowly began to disappear inside his stomach. Then the pain hit … and he screamed. 

In his periphery he could barely make out Sam jolting awake and crying out his name, but Dean just couldn’t concentrate on anything but the horrible, blazing agony that was erupting inside him. The Bruja’s hand was completely engulfed in his flesh up to her wrist, and he could feel those spindly fingers pushing around inside, bumping into his internal organs. Everything felt like it was shifting and moving and on fire. 

He lost track of the minutes, more likely only seconds, before the old woman’s hand was suddenly reversing out of his body with a wet ‘pop’, leaving nothing but a smear of red across his perfectly intact belly. Her fingers were darkened with blood, but her hand was empty. The orb of light was gone. All of Dean’s strength evaporated in the air and he slouched into the painful hold of the cuffs on his wrists. 

Sam was still calling out for him, but Dean just couldn’t muster the effort to answer. The Bruja was howling with glee and teetering around the basement in her excitement. Probably why she never saw Sam’s attack. Dean himself was a bit fuzzy on the details, but he had accepted that Sam had turned into a pretty badass mother fucking hunter over the last couple years, and probably had a million ways out of an ancient set of handcuffs. 

Dean’s eyes had drifted closed. He could hear Sam’s chains fall away and a scuffle of bodies. There was a spark, and a scream, and a flare of power … but he just wasn’t able to open his eyes. Everything inside of him felt bruised and burnt. Out of place and pulsating with pain. He’d never felt so weak in his fucking life. The acrid scent of smoke and burning flesh assaulted his nose just about the same moment Sammy was in front of him getting all grabby. 

“DEAN! DEAN!”

The cuffs around his wrists fell away and Dean just dropped. Like his bones had liquefied inside him. Sam cursed and barely caught his older brother before Dean had a painful and unfortunate meeting with the filthy floor. 

“DEAN!! Come on!”

He really wanted to answer Sam. He really did, but he may have well been unconscious or concussed for all that he could do. So he just went with it and let Sam manhandle him into a fireman’s carry as he hoofed it out of the ( _apparently_ ) burning building.

The Bruja and her book were burned to cinders. The spell that had slipped between her decrepit lips all but forgotten to the recesses of Dean’s mind … and they continued on. As if it was any other hunt. Any other witches curse that somehow never took effect. 

Omitted. Unrecalled. Blanked out and left behind. 

For about five weeks. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean wasn’t really sure where they were in terms of the eastern side of the country, he just knew that he’d been too tired to drive and had thrust his keys at Sam after the last hunt. He felt worn down and strung out, ill at ease with his own body and its functions. Sam was starting to catch on, and was shooting Dean more and more worried glances. 

They’d decided to head out to Bobby’s for a little break in action. Normally, Dean would likely have whined and fussed about sitting around doing nothing, but at this moment … it sounded like utter bliss. He figured he was getting sick with some sort of wonder flu. Nauseous more often than not and even the _thought_ of alcohol turned his stomach in painful knots. 

_Dean Winchester, too sick to drink._ Sammy was probably shitting bricks in his pants with worry. 

They were a couple days away from Singer Salvage the first time Dean shot out of bed in the morning and promptly lost everything in his stomach to the porcelain god. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d thrown up so viciously, Dean was known for his iron-clad stomach. It was annoying and worrisome. Especially when he did it three days in a row. 

The idea didn’t start puttering around in his brain until they were a day out from Bobby’s, sitting in a diner and downing his third glass of milk. A heavily pregnant woman wobbled by with her husband and was loudly despairing about how she’d rather have the morning sickness back than deal with a bladder the size of a pea. 

With no warning, the long dormant internal Spanish to English translator in his brain threw out the phrase _‘child of Heaven and Hell’_ in that horrible gasping breath of the Bruja Sam had killed two months ago. In the next instant Dean was in a mad dash to the men’s room and tossing up everything he’d just eaten. 

_There’s no way. It’s not even possible._

Still, the moment he was able to manage slipping Sam’s constant hovering presence, Dean was off to the drug store. He purchased half a dozen different pregnancy tests, ignoring the teenage schmuck behind the counter with his knowing leer, and took off to the shopping center across the street. Holing himself up in the anonymity of a giant chain store’s bathroom, he took all 6 tests at once. 

During the excruciating twenty minute wait ( _and seriously, how did women deal with that shit?_ ) he started to second guess himself. Shook his head before thumping it a couple times against the cold door of the stall. Fucking ridiculous. What was he even thinking? 

Then the first test came up positive. Then the second. And the third. 

He promptly puked in the conveniently nearby toilet. 

By the time they reached Bobby’s the next day, Dean was so regressed inside his own thoughts it took him several minutes to even realize they had pulled up inside the gates of Singer Salvage. When he finally blinked himself back into the present, Sam was just sitting in the driver’s seat chewing on his bottom lip and sporting the biggest set of worried puppy eyes that Dean had ever seen. 

Rolling his own eyes at Sam’s anxiety, Dean quickly got out of the Impala and stretched out the kinks in his back. Bobby was ambling down the stairs toward them when the nausea suddenly hit Dean out of nowhere. Again. _Fuck, this shit was getting ridiculous._

He sped past Bobby up the stairs and into the house, barely making it to the downstairs toilet before bidding farewell to the all American breakfast they’d enjoyed that morning. Slumped over the porcelain bowl and feeling viciously vengeful at it and all of its kind, Dean could hear Bobby and Sam making their way into the house. Predictably, Sam was tattling to Bobby about how sick Dean had been the last week or so and likely swinging his gigantor arms about in epic flail. 

It had been a while since Dean Winchester felt so lost. 

~*~

A couple days later on a supply stocking trip into town, Dean managed to slip away from his two worry-wart nursemaids and ambled into the nearby used book store. Feeling extremely self-conscious, he perused the health section until he found a tattered copy of _‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’_. He’d never paid so quickly for a book in his life. 

Stamping down on his sense of overwhelming embarrassment, Dean shoved the book under his shirt and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Fuck knows, he did _not_ need Sam catching a glimpse of the title. Then all the questions would start and Dean just didn’t have enough answers on hand to deal with being grilled by his little brother. 

For the next week he stayed up late, hidden in his room, and read the book back to front. Three times. 

A hunt popped up a couple states over and Sam was raring to go. Dean’s stomach problems ( _he refused to call it morning sickness_ ) had calmed down somewhat, but he was still leery of travel. If this was … what he thought it was … if he was really … well … he just couldn’t jeopardize it with a hunt right now, could he? With a clear conscious? Dean had a strange tendency to get thrown into walls on hunts. He’s pretty sure that wouldn’t be good for the … the _thing._

Which he was still refusing to name outright. 

In the end he pretty much kicked Sam and Bobby out of the house to take care of the issue. It would give him a couple days of peace to come to terms with some things on his own. They’d only been gone for a matter of hours when Dean made his first trip into town. Stopping off at the local thrift store first, he found several pairs of soft, threadbare sweatpants. Jeans were starting to become annoyingly uncomfortable and irritating. 

The next stop was the pharmacy. He managed to sweet talk the counter girl into helping him pick out a shit ton of prenatal vitamins and more herbal supplements than he’d ever seen in his life. Deflecting as many queries about the mother-to-be as he could by asking dozens of questions regarding side effects and proper dosage. 

By the time Dean got back to the house his feet and lower back were aching and he’d already received two calls from Sam checking in on him. He had to answer a couple of Bobby’s phones a little while later. One call was on the FBI line, which meant that Sam and Bobby were already delving into the hunt investigation.

That night before bed, Dean stripped down to nothing and stood in front of the full length mirror in Bobby’s room. He’d double checked with the calendar downstairs in the kitchen, and this week would be two months since the Bruja shoved her nasty mitt into his body. Turning to view his profile in the reflection, he let out a heavy sigh. There was a teeny tiny little pooch of belly where there hadn’t been one previously. 

It probably wouldn’t be noticeable yet to anyone but Dean himself, but he knew his body … and this hadn’t been there before. He carefully ran his palm over the curve. The bump was firmer than he’d figured it would be. The taste of blood on his lips was a sudden shock. Glancing up to his own face in the mirror, Dean realized he’d chewed his bottom lip into a mess … and there were tears gathering in his eyes. 

_This was real._

This was really happening. 

And he had to figure out a way to tell Sam. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Sam and Bobby walked in the door four days later, Dean was curled up on the couch in sweats and a t-shirt, having just finished devouring a whole bag of Oreo cookies. His hair was dirty and sticking up at all angles, and he hadn’t shaved since they’d left. They gave him an odd look or two before dumping their gear and filling him in on the hunt. He listened with half an ear, and probably a blank gaze. 

“Dean? Are you … okay?”

Sam’s voice made him jump a little. Dean had been concentrating hard on his little brother’s features and wondering if any of them would be passed on to the … the … _fuck._ He still couldn’t even say the word. Which was going to make the conversation he was about to initiate a little difficult. 

“Sam … I need to … tell you something.”

The younger Winchester immediately plopped down on the couch by Dean’s feet. His ‘freak-out-worry’ expression turned on with full force. Bobby ambled into the room and pulled up a chair next to them. Dean shifted his gaze nervously back and forth between the two men several times trying to steel his nerves. After a couple more moments of silence, Sam tentatively reached his hand out to rest on his older brother’s knee. 

“Dean-”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

The instant silence in the room was deafening. Sam had the most hysterically shocked look on his face, that any other time would have set Dean to fits, but nothing was really funny about the current situation. Bobby’s jaw had actually dropped open for the span of several seconds before he snapped it closed and cleared his throat. 

“Dean … _son_ … I’m pretty sure you’re past the age that we need to talk about where babies come from-”

Dean growled under his breath before speaking. 

“Dammit, Bobby! I wish to fucking GOD that I was joking … but I’m _not_.”

Sam had finally managed to start firing on all cylinders again, and he gripped Dean’s knee tightly before speaking as calmly as he could manage. 

“Why … why do you think you’re … you’re … _you know_?”

The elder Winchester sighed and sank backwards into the couch, bringing his hands up to rub tiredly at this scruffy face. 

“You remember the Bruja in Indiana? That was eating the babies?”

Sam made a small gagging sound deep in his throat, but nodded slowly to his brother’s question. 

“Well … while you were still hanging there unconscious like an overstuffed piñata … she … she was working a spell. I couldn’t understand much of what she was saying at the time … but I’m pretty sure, _now_ , that she said something along the lines of devouring a child of heaven and hell.”

Bobby grunted and shot out of his chair towards his desk in the corner of the room. He was instantly rifling through the stack of research they’d conducted about the Bruja that was still piled precariously on his desk. Dean knew the older hunter would still be listening to him as he continued to explain cautiously to Sam. 

“She put something in me, Sammy. I didn’t think about it until I started getting so sick in the morning for no reason … and then I was just so fucking _tired_ all the time. Still _am._ I heard this pregnant woman complaining one day… and it all kind of fell in to place. 

I mean… the trail of bodies she was leaving … she had to know hunters would come looking. I think she was hoping, or planning, for us _specifically._ She knew exactly how to get the drop on us.”

Sam was moving quickly away from freak out to research mode, and had brought his hands up to his face, chewing just slightly on one of his fingernails. 

“Yeah, but Dean … why us? I mean-”

“Oh come on, Sammy! Think! Who _else_ on this fucking planet right now would be the perfect representation of Heaven and Hell?”

Bobby clucked his tongue across the room.

“He’s got a point, you know. Not only have you each vacationed at both spots … you were Lucifer’s vessel and Dean was Michael’s. That’s pretty damn close to the bodies of up and down, if you ask me.”

Sam hopped up from the couch and started pacing the room. He ran his fingers through his hair a couple times in nerves, and Dean took the opportunity to stretch out fully on the couch. All the other men’s energy was making him tired just watching them. Sam stopped in the middle of the room and crossed his arms tightly. 

“Okay… well … let’s think about what we know of her, right? She was devouring the souls of those infants to extend her life and power …”

Bobby suddenly smacked a hand down on his desk and the Winchesters both jumped. The older hunter walked back towards them, fingers skimming over the words in one of his decaying spell books. 

“Got it. Devouring a child of Heaven and Hell would make the magic wielder immortal … and grant a modicum of dominion over demons and angels alike.”

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. 

“Well, damn. It’s a good thing Sammy torched the old bitch then, isn’t it?”

Bobby sighed and closed the book in his hands. 

“Alright… so we know _why_ she did it … but the _how_ is the tricky part. Besides which … I’m pretty sure even magical pregnancies require two to tango.”

Dean couldn’t tell if he was suddenly fighting the need to scream, laugh or weep. He listened as Bobby and Sam settled back down into a couple of chairs pulled up to the couch. He fought the urge to smooth his palm over his slightly distended belly. This was the part he was the most uncertain about. Sam’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

“So … we need to find out who she used to … I mean… who the other donor is? Right?”

_Well … here goes nothing._

“Don’t be dense, Sammy.”

The silence in the room caused Dean to finally open his eyes. Both the other men were casting curious glances his way, and he was honestly a bit surprised with all the experience they’d had in the continually fucked up lives of Winchesters … it didn’t even _occur_ to them. Dean licked his dry lips and turned to meet his brother’s gaze dead on. 

“She said Heaven _and_ Hell, Sammy. I’m only the representation of _one_ of those things. The vessel of an angel, right? Which means the other half of the kid would have to be taken from the representation of Hell.”

Sam’s face was rapidly draining of color, and Bobby didn’t look much better, tell the truth. The younger Winchester’s voice cracked on his next words.

“Dean … w-what do you…?”

The smile that split Dean’s face was no doubt cold and without humor.

“I mean _congrats_ , little brother … you my baby daddy.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

In retrospect … Dean considered that it may not have been the best idea to be so blunt about the revelation. Sam was pretty fucking heavy, after all, and it wasn’t easy to get him up off the floor and prone on the recently vacated couch. Bobby had a look to his face much like he’d been sucking lemons all day and Dean could _totally_ relate to the sentiment. 

By the time Sam came back to the living a couple hours later, Dean was half way through a bag of peanut M&M’s and Bobby was nose deep into _‘What To Expect When You’re Expecting’_ and asking Dean a myriad of questions. At one point Dean had turned to the older man and grinned.

“You realize this means you’re going to be a Grandpa, right?”

For all the blustering and bitching the man had done at the words, Dean hadn’t missed the little sparkle of delight in the old hunter’s eyes. It was around that time that a grunt had sputtered forth from the laid out Winchester on the couch. Sam was slow to rise, but his gaze was firmly on Dean as he moved. 

“I’m tempted to ask if it was all a dream… but considering Bobby’s current reading material … I’m not going to be that lucky, am I?”

Dean answered him with a shrug and jammed another mouthful of candy into his face. Now that he’d confessed everything to Bobby and Sam … a small bit of calm had settled over him. They could help him figure this out. They could help him get through this. The overwhelming fear from the last couple weeks was being slowly washed away. Unconsciously, Dean’s hand smoothed across his belly. Sam’s gaze instantly shot down to follow the motion. 

“Are you … are you _showing_ at all?”

Dean froze in place. Sam’s voice had been soft and a little awed. Slowly, Dean nodded his head and silently watched as Sam licked his lips in a nervous tell. 

“Can … can I see?”

Beside him, Bobby had stilled from his reading, obviously curious as well. Deliberately cautious with his movements, Dean laid the bag of candy on Bobby’s desk and took his time standing up. He rucked his t-shirt up to the middle of his chest, and just barely pushed the waistband of his sweats below the tiny swell of his belly. 

Sam sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. The next instant he was across the room and dropping to his knees in front of Dean. The elder Winchester had to fight hard to keep himself still. His instincts wanted him to jump back and get away from Sam, because this was a really fucking surreal situation _already_ , and having his little brother on his knees before him wasn’t helping matters any. His brain, however, told him that this … this … _baby_ … was Sammy’s too, and he had just as much right to be a part of this as Dean did. 

Likely without even realizing he was doing so, Sam’s hands came up and drifted toward the little baby bump. He caught himself at the last second and glanced up to seek permission from Dean. Every heterosexual fiber of Dean’s being was screaming _‘NO!’_ and freaking out at Sam’s nearness to his crotch … but he nodded his head anyway. 

His younger brother’s giant paws gingerly tracked over the minute curve. It tickled like fucking crazy and Dean inadvertently sucked his stomach in a little at the touch. He was studying every flicker of emotion that crossed Sam’s face as his hands roamed over Dean’s belly. 

If Dean had for even a _single_ second in the last weeks considered getting rid of the life growing inside him, the thought was completely washed away at that look of awed wonder on Sam’s face. He could practically hear the gears turning inside Sammy’s brain, knew what his little brother was thinking. 

This was something they’d both given up on. After everything. After Jess and Lisa and Ben and Heaven and Hell and the Apocalypse and the Leviathans. The minute hope that either of them might one day be able to settle down and have families of their own had evaporated into the breeze. It had become a far flung dream, never to be realized. 

Of course, Dean figured the loss of that chance likely affected Sammy much more than himself. Sam was more the type. Picket fence and two point five kids and the whole lot. Dean always figured he would just be the cool Uncle that showed up now and again to spoil you rotten. Not that Dean hadn’t enjoyed every second of being Ben’s pseudo father. He’d actually loved it far more than he ever thought possible. 

He never figured he’d have one of his _own_ , though. And certainly … not like _this_. 

Sam’s hands fell away and he slowly rose to his feet, his gaze eventually moving up to lock with Dean’s. There was something completely unreadable dancing in his eyes that made Dean slightly uncomfortable. Almost like Sam was asking a question, and offering up an answer all at the same time. 

They both startled at the sound of Bobby’s voice. 

“I hate to break up the love fest here … but we’ve got some serious discussion and planning to do.”

Sam shook his head as if to clear it of an unpleasant thought before responding to the older hunters words. 

“What do you mean, Bobby?”

Bobby sighed and motioned for them to sit around his desk. 

“Well first … I’ve got someone I can call. He was a doctor before he became a hunter, and I think he could at least get his hands on an ultrasound machine … and maybe give us some advice. But honestly… I’m more worried about Dean.”

A shiver of unease wound itself up Dean’s spine as he heard his brother audibly gulp. 

“Worried about _what_?”

Bobby sighed and took a heavy swig of his whiskey-laced coffee.

“Right… let’s just be fucking blunt here. Dean don’t have the parts that’s needed to have a baby. If the old witch had to shove it straight into his gut to plant it there… chances are she was planning to rip it back out the exact same way. No birth canal … no way of getting it out without cutting him open.”

Nausea gurgled in Dean’s belly. He must have made some small sound of distress, because Sam was shooting worried glances in his direction. Bobby rubbed a weathered hand down his bearded face and took another swig of coffee. 

“What I don’t get … is was she really planning on keeping y’all around for nine months until the bun in the oven was finished cookin’? Or was there something else? Plus, if this kid was created out of thin air by magic and a powerful Bruja … who’s to say if it’s even going to be _human_ at all? Not to mention that fact that y’all are brothers … so the tykes basically gonna be a potentially messed up garble of DNA. Oh! And let’s not forget that _technically_ Dean and Sam Winchester have been dead for years … so if this all goes balls up … how the hell are we going to get Dean into a hospital? What with him being a dead pregnant _man_ , for shits sake.”

Dean shot off to the downstairs bathroom to enjoy the surreal experience of tossing up rainbow colored, candy coated puke. From the study he could hear Sam scolding Bobby. 

“Maybe _too_ much of a reality check too quickly there, Bobby.”

“Whoopsie?”

Dean rested his head against the cool side of the porcelain bowl and sniffled once. ( _Though he would never admit it._ ) This whole thing was so far beyond fucked up he didn’t even know _what_ to think anymore. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The surreal nature of everything just intensified as time continued to pass. The next several weeks saw less morning sickness, for which Dean was very thankful indeed, but more aches and pains and swollen ankles than he was really prepared to deal with. 

Bobby’s friend would be stopping by sometime in the next several days with some equipment, and hopefully a hell of a lot of advice, but until then all Dean really felt like doing was eating and sleeping. He would stretch out long and languid on the couch watching hours of daytime television and generally being bored out of his skull. 

Bobby was mother-henning so hardcore that Dean was beginning to regret the Grandpa comment. The older man had already cleared out a room upstairs, refinished an antique crib he’d had in the attic, and was working on painting the walls a soft butter yellow. Neither Winchester could remember the last time anything in the Singer household had received a fresh coat of paint. _It was disturbing._

Sam kept slipping health food into Dean’s meals and hiding all his stashes of junk food. Alcohol and caffeine had pretty much vanished from the house, and Dean had threatened that if chocolate did too … there would be some epic fucking hell to pay. Admittedly, he was enjoying sending his little brother off on random requests for cravings. One day he was dying for one of those giant pickles in a bag that you find at convenience stores. It had taken Sam three tries to find the damn things, and then he’d only bought one … so _naturally_ Dean had to send him back to purchase several more. 

Sometimes he was surprised by how easily Sam was taking all his demands and requests, but then he would get a quick glimpse of the look on his brother’s face whenever the baby bump was exposed. Sam was so fucking excited he obviously could barely contain himself. 

It would spike something ugly in Dean’s gut every time he thought about it too hard. Sam was his flesh and blood, one hundred percent parentage sharing, honest to goodness _brother_ for fucks sake. Completely skipping over the whole pregnant _man_ issue, Sam was his _brother_ … and Dean was having his _baby._ It was like… incest without the _actual_ incest bit … but still _felt_ like incest just the same. 

He didn’t talk to Sam or Bobby about it. He was pretty sure they were finding their own methods of coping with ( _or completely ignoring_ ) the issue. However, _they_ didn’t currently have the emotional where-with-all of a fucking _gnat._ Apparently he was now capable of crying at a second’s notice. _Commercials_ could do him in. If he had to sit through one more ad about abused animals with Sarah McLaughlin crooning in the background he was going to slit his fucking wrists. 

The day before the former doctor was due to arrive, Dean was snoozing on the couch with the white noise of the television murmuring in the background. In his half asleep haze, he heard Sammy walk into the room and pause next to the couch. Then, ever so gently, his head was being raised just enough for his brother to slide under and replace Dean’s pillow with his own lap. For a moment Dean’s brain short circuited on the fact that his head was currently resting in his brother’s _crotch_ , but then Sam’s long fingers slowly started to comb across his scalp. The motion was so soothing that Dean allowed himself to fall back into his almost asleep blissful state. 

The pads of Sam’s fingers left tracks of tingling skin in their wake, but there was just the right amount of pressure for the sensation to be pleasurable and not painful. There was a soft whisper of paper, and apparently Sam was reading a book above Dean’s head. _Most likely the damn pregnancy book, as the entire household seemed to be of the opinion every word should be memorized._ Dean was pretty sure that he dozed off for a few moments, because it seemed like Sam’s fingers just vanished mid stroke. 

There was a second of complete stillness before Dean felt the warm pressure of his brother’s hand at his waist. Gingerly and slowly, Sam’s fingers pulled Dean’s shirt further up his chest, exposing the swell of his belly. It was much more prominent now, though not at _all_ round and soft like a woman’s would be. Steeling himself not to react to the inevitable, Dean didn’t even flinch when Sam’s large hand was placed on the curve of his stomach. 

The callused fingers and palm smoothed cautiously over the distended surface like it was fragile. Sam’s hand slowly moved lower to cup the curve in his massive mitt. Dean sucked in a quick breath when his brother’s voice rang out soft above him.

“Boy or girl, do you think?”

Dean gave up the pretense of sleep, but refused to open his eyes. The emotions that he just _knew_ were shining in Sam’s gaze at the moment scared him enough without having to actually acknowledge them. He licked his lips once. 

“Girl.”

Sam chuckled deep in his throat. 

“Why do you think that?”

Carefully Dean shifted his hands above his head and stretched out the entire length of his body, from his fingers straight down to his toes. He held it for a moment, enjoying the pleasant burn, before relaxing and sinking even further into the couch. His arms landed against the large thigh currently employed as Dean’s pillow. 

“Because if I’ve learned anything in my lifetime, it’s that God has one fucked up sense of humor … and if there’s one thing a crotchety old man and two beaten and broken hunters will _never_ be able to handle … it’s a frilly, pink, girly princess.”

Sam’s laughter boomed out in the room. Every organ in Dean’s body warmed instantly at the sound. _Fucking traitors._ His brother’s laugh was _not_ supposed to make him feel all fuzzy and giddy. _Ri-goddam-diculous._ He knew it was just whatever strange hormones he likely had running through his body, but he admitted ( _if only to himself_ ) that part of it was just the mere fact that it was Sam. His _Sammy_. 

Since he was four years old Dean had willingly given anything and everything he could to Sam in order to make his little brother happy. Make him smile. Make him stop fighting with Dad. It was probably only natural progression that morphed that devotion into giving away his soul. Giving away his life. He’d do it all over again, of course … in a heartbeat. Didn’t have a choice. 

So maybe this was just one more thing that Dean could give Sam. A _really fucked up, hopefully not inbred freaky thing_ , but something really important none the less. Something that Sammy had always really, really wanted. So if Sam wanted to be a dad … if he really wanted to have a _family_ … and Dean just _happened_ to get knocked up by a crusty old she-bitch and her magical, mystical glowy Sammy spunk … so be it. 

_Maybe it was fate, or some shit._

Dean yawned big and wide, jaw cracking at the movement. Sam chuckled warmly above him and it took Dean a moment to realize that he’d shifted partially sideways on the couch, and was currently snuggling his face right into his brother’s stomach. Sam’s giant, warm hand had stretched across Dean’s side and was rubbing soothing circles into his aching lower back. Dean snorted into Sam’s shirt.

“This is some _epically_ gay domestic shit right here, Sammy.”

Again, Sam’s laughter exploded into the quiet stillness of the room. Dean grinned at the sound and shoved an arm between the couch and his brother’s strong back, effectively hugging Sam’s flat, washboard stomach to Dean’s face. _Bastard._ On impulse, he nosed the soft white tee Sam was wearing to reveal a small strip of skin, and blew the loudest most obnoxious raspberry he could manage onto his brother’s belly. Sam howled with ticklish glee before softly smacking Dean on the back of the head. 

“You are so WEIRD!”

Dean cackled. 

“Pot - kettle, Sammy.”

They settled down after that, and Dean quickly fell asleep, warm and content in his brother’s presence. 

~*~

Doc Morgan strode confidently into the house and instantly Dean disliked him. He couldn’t really say why, just something rubbed him the wrong way with the other man. He had to be older than Bobby, with his hair gone milky white and jowls that sagged disturbingly low into his neck. Dean had shivered violently when the man had touched him in a customary handshake, and subconsciously backed up into Sam’s broad chest. 

Sam’s long arms had immediately wrapped around him from behind. Dean was slowly getting used to the fact that, where Sam had always been kind of _huggy_ before, now he was downright _clingy-touchy-feely._ Warm breath wafted across Dean’s cheek when his brother whispered into his ear. 

“What’s the matter?”

Dean chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged, but didn’t remove his gaze from the stranger conversing with Bobby on the other side of the room. 

“Just … don’t like him.”

Sam raised his head to follow Dean’s gaze toward the former doctor. His body tensed slightly where it was currently wrapped around Dean, and the pregnant man was relieved that his brother was going to just trust his judgment on this one and not try to soothe Dean’s nerves with false assurances. 

Of course, it could also have to do with the fact that Sammy had started to go all Alpha-male on Dean the last several days. When they went into town now, if anyone so much as gave Dean a sideways glance of interest, Sam practically bared his teeth and pissed all over them. _Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad_ … but if _he_ had ever been this overprotective with Sam when they were growing up … it was a fucking wonder the kid hadn’t smothered him with a pillow in his sleep. 

Morgan clapped his hands together loudly and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Well! Let’s get this freak show on the road, shall we?”

Ten minutes later found Dean stretched out on his favorite couch shirtless, with his well-worn sweats just barely covering up enough of his dignity. Sam was hovering above his head and Bobby was seated on a rickety chair beside Doc Morgan. The good doctor himself was currently slathering Dean’s distended belly with some cold, disgusting goop. Dean had to fight his impulse to get as far away from the man as possible. His old, wrinkled hands moving over the baby was making Dean near nauseous. 

Finally the portable ultrasound was up and running, and Morgan was shifting the wand around on Dean’s stomach and humming at the tiny black and white screen. 

“Yup… there we go! One magically incubated tiny fetus!”

Sam froze behind the couch. 

“You… you can see it?”

Morgan nodded and shifted the wand of the machine further south. Dean barely managed to keep himself from whimpering under his breath. He did _not_ want this creepy old dude anywhere remotely _near_ his junk, but apparently it was a necessary evil for the time being. 

“Here… there you go, fella’s. There’s your little curse.”

The words sent a spike of anger up Dean’s spine, but he chose to ignore them and lean forward has much as he could. There was a vaguely human shaped blob on the tiny black screen. As he watched, it moved a little to its side, barely kicking out a tiny little leg, and _holy fuck that was a baby._

_That was a baby. That was a fucking baby. A real baby. It was real. It was really real._

_HOLY FUCK. HOLY SHIT. HOLY FUCK._

Dean’s vision went white around the edges and there was a mighty roaring in his ears. He vaguely recognized Sam and Bobby calling his name out in panic and screaming at him to breathe. Which was ridiculous, because really … he didn’t need someone to tell him to _breathe._ He just … couldn’t quite remember _how_ at the moment. 

Something cupped over his nose and mouth, and pure oxygen rushed into this system. Vertigo rolled through his brain and he flung his hands out to grab something. Sam’s strong arms were immediately wrapped around him and his head was being tucked under his brother’s chin. 

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay … just breathe and relax.”

Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s back, clutching painfully into his threadbare shirt. Sam just continued to whisper calm and soothing words into Dean’s hair and eventually the elder Winchester found himself coming back to the world around him. 

Bobby and Doc Morgan were sitting across the room at the giant mahogany desk cluttered with papers and books. The ultrasound was conspicuously absent. The only remaining equipment was the tiny oxygen tank currently feeding the mask partially covering his face. Dean weakly patted Sam’s back, and his brother instantly moved away from him allowing Dean to sink back into the couch. 

“How are you feeling?”

Sam’s voice was pitched low in a whisper just for Dean’s ears. Dean simply nodded in answer and closed his eyes, concentrating on steadying his breathing. He must have drifted off again for a while, because he was startled awake when raised voices exploded in anger. 

Bobby and Morgan were clearly arguing on the other side of the room, and Sam was standing rigid with tension beside the couch where Dean reclined. It took him several seconds to make sense of the words being said. 

“I’m telling you, Singer … just take the damn thing out now and kill it!”

Instant fear gripped Dean’s heart like a vice. Before him, Sam was shifting restlessly from foot to foot, clearly itching to jump into a brawl. 

“It’s not a _thing_ , Morgan … it’s a _baby_!”

A vicious sneer streaked across the former doctor’s visage. 

“You don’t _know_ that! It was created by magic, made up of the DNA of two fucking _abominations_! It’s probably the fucking Anti-Christ right there!”

Previous episode completely forgotten, Dean surged to his feet and wobbled dangerously for a moment. He gripped the small mask cupping his face and ripped it off. 

“Who are you fucking calling an abomination, you sonuvabitch?”

The look on Morgan’s face was completely horrible, and Dean had the urge to wipe it off with a sledgehammer. Morgan crossed his arms tightly over his chest and turned partially to face Dean and Sam. 

“You two are. From some of the stories that have spread through the hunting community since your Daddy died, you boys are some seriously screwed up freaks of nature, and the world would likely be a better place without you here.”

Sam snarled loudly and took a menacing step towards Morgan. 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. We’ve given everything we’ve had, more than once, to save this world.”

The doctor sneered once more. 

“Oh yeah? Well ask yourself this, Winchester … would the world even have _been_ in those predicaments if it weren’t for you and your brother? We’d probably all be better off if you’d all died together with your mommy.”

Sam launched himself forward, and it was only Bobby’s hand held up in warning that stopped him inches from Morgan’s face. Dean was bristling under his skin so bad he could barely contain his rage. Bobby calmly stepped between the boys and Morgan. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave. You seem to have outstayed your welcome.”

Morgan held himself straighter and puffed out his chest. 

“You better think about this, Singer. God knows what that thing growing in there is, but if that Bruja was right … it could be some powerful mojo.”

Bobby’s hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. 

“That _thing_ … is my grandbaby … and I think … it’s time … for you … to go.”

Morgan suddenly flung his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, BOBBY!! THINK!!! That thing was spawned in magic! It’s currently planted inside a _man_ , and its other father is also his _uncle_ that once housed the soul of _Lucifer_! There’s a good chance that whatever it is, it isn’t human!”

No one answered the man’s outburst. He snorted in disgust before beginning the process of packing up his equipment. 

“If none of those things bother you… then fine … what about the welfare of _that_ poor bastard, then?”

Morgan flung a careless hand movement in Dean’s direction. Sam immediately shifted over to stand in front of Dean and glare at the doctor. Dean placed a hand in the small of his brother’s back before moving a step to the right in order to keep Morgan in view. Bobby had simply crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the other hunter to finish packing up. 

“A man’s body ain’t built to support a baby, you poor delusional bastards. It can’t make room for it, it’s not flexible enough. The larger that thing gets, the more pressure it will put on Winchester’s internal organs and the more pain and danger he’ll be in. There’s only a slim margin he’ll be able to carry whatever that is to term without killing one or both of them, and even if he does … you’re gonna have to cut him open wide to get the little monster out. The shock of that will likely kill him … if he even _makes_ it that far.”

Dean’s knees were going out on him. He stumbled backwards to land awkwardly on the couch, both hands cradling the swell of his belly. No matter what the asshole spouted, he refused to believe it. The baby inside him was going to be the only worthwhile legacy that he and Sam left behind, and he’ll be fucking damned if some backwoods idiot was going to convince him otherwise. 

Sam had turned away from Morgan and followed Dean to the couch. He sank to his knees before Dean and covered Dean’s hands with his own. His eyes were wide with concern, but he kept silent. 

The front door slamming made them both jump, and a string of curses followed Bobby into the room. 

“Fucking bastard! What the fuck does he know? Mother fucker! ……….. I need some scotch.”

Dean sighed and leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes to escape the world for a few moments. He could hear Bobby rummaging around his desk for any kind of alcohol that hadn’t been confiscated in Sam’s previous house cleansing. For his part, Sam’s worry was palpable and thick in the air. His voice was soft and concerned when he finally spoke. 

“He’s wrong, Dean. You know? He is.”

Dean sighed and removed his hands from below his brothers to rub at the ache in his temples. 

“I know he is, Sam.”

The younger Winchester’s hands shifted around the baby bump and traced soothing little circles into Dean’s skin. 

“What if … what if he’s right about your body though? What if this is dangerous for you?”

Ah. That was the crux of the whole problem right there. Sammy had no issue believing that the baby was going to be fine … it was his big brother he was worried about more. Dean opened his eyes and met Sam’s concerned gaze. 

“Been through a lot worse than this, Sammy. I’m not worried.”

A small tick of a smile attempted to break Sam’s dimples free, but it never fully formed. 

“Yeah, but-”

“Christ on a cracker, boy! Have some faith in your brother, will you? It’s going to be fucking FINE! We’re going to make _sure_ it is.”

Bobby slammed his fist on his desk and sent papers and books scattering.

“BALLS!!! …………. I’ma go get some booze.”

The older man stormed out the door leaving the Winchester brothers alone in the quiet house. They watched him go with some amusement, but it was quickly sobered when Sam started sporting a killer set of puppy eyes and chewing roughly on his bottom lip. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. 

“Out with it, Sammy. What’s chewin’ on your ass?”

Sam shrugged once before sitting back on his haunches, still on the floor before Dean. His hands moved away from his brother’s swollen belly, but his gaze remained locked on it. 

“I _want_ this, you know. More than I probably should. If the last several years had never happened… I’m pretty sure the idea of having a baby with my brother would have sent me screaming to the rafters and questioning my sanity. Turns out … I stopped searching for my sanity a long time ago, and now … I just want something good to happen for us.”

Sam’s warm hands found their way to Dean’s knees. Just rested softly against the fabric of his sweats. The feeling was so comforting that Dean’s throat began to burn with emotion. He understood exactly what Sam was trying to tell him. 

They were both ready to be done with hunting. All they needed was an important reason to get out. 

This was that golden opportunity. 

“Thing is-”

Dean shifted his gaze back to his little brother. 

“… the thing is … I don’t want this if it means I’m going to lose you, Dean. I can’t … I’m just not ready for that. So you have to tell me right now … what are we going to do if this starts to head south?”

Licking his dry lips, Dean sniffed once and cleared his throat before answering his brother’s question.

“I don’t know, Sam. I just know … that if this baby isn’t a monster. If it really is yours and mine, I want to give it every chance I can for it to survive, and if that means I might have to sacrifice myself … I’m okay with that.”

The hands on his knees clenched painfully.

“Dean-”

“No, Sammy, listen. How many stories have you heard about expectant mother’s demanding that if it’s a matter of choice between them and the baby, they chose the baby? It’s not like I’m just trying to throw myself on a sacrificial fire here … I’ve done my time. I’ve had my life. I’ve seen and done more things than people twice my age. I’m satisfied with what I would leave behind at this point. You can’t take a whole potential life away from someone that’s made of you and me just because you don’t want to let me go. Do you get what I’m sayin’ here?”

Sam looked away towards the empty kitchen. 

“She’s gonna be a spitfire, Sammy, I just know it. And I fully plan to do everything within my power to make sure I’m here with you and her for lots and lots of years to come. But if it all goes south … you gotta promise me that you’ll worry about _her_ first.”

His brother still refused to meet his gaze.

“Sam. You gotta promise me.”

Finally the younger man turned towards him. Tears were brimming in his eyes, but his gaze was resolute. 

“You’re still so sure it’s going to be a girl, huh?”

Dean smiled but refused the change of topic. 

“Sam.”

His brother groaned as he lifted his hands to wipe the burgeoning tears away. 

“Fine, Dean! Fuck … I promise, okay?”

Dean chuckled and leaned forward to affectionately smack his brother upside the head. 

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

~*~

A couple weeks after the ill-fated visit from Captain Asshole, _or Doctor Morgan as Sam liked to correct him_ , found Dean standing in the kitchen munching on a bag of Doritos he’d been dipping in ranch dressing. ( _Regardless of Sam’s opinion, Dean was adamant that everything was better dipped in ranch dressing._ ) 

Bobby and the ranch dressing hater were currently buried under mountains of books in the study. The two would sometimes go out on small, nearby hunts, but for the most part Sam had settled into doing research and background checks for hunters already in the field. It suited him pretty well, being as research was always his forte anyway. Dean had taken over the responsibility of answering Bobby’s phones. It was actually a lot of fun and kept him from getting too bored. 

He was just about to jab another Dorito into his mouth when something new happened. The weirdest fucking sensation hit him right in the gut. It kind of felt like gas, but like, to the umpteenth degree. Dean froze with the chip halfway to his mouth. The strange sensation happened again, but this time it seemed to roll across his stomach from left to right, and just like that … he knew what it was. 

He dropped everything instantly and stumbled out of the kitchen and into the study. The look on his face must have been something to see, because Sam and Bobby immediately jumped to their feet in panic and raced over to him. 

“Dean!! What is it? What’s wrong?”

For a second he just stared at his brother with wide, shocked eyes before reaching out his hand and grabbing Sammy by the wrist. Without preamble or explanation, he pulled up his shirt and shoved Sam’s hand against his belly. There was only a moment’s wait before the rolling sensation happened again, this time right across where Sam’s palm was placed. Dean grinned when he felt it. 

Sam gasped.

“OH MY GOD!”

Dean chuckled softly. 

“She’s movin’, Sammy!”

Bobby damn near squealed in delight ( _though he would deny it adamantly later_ ) and stepped closer. Dean snagged the older man’s wrist as well and placed his hand right next to Sam’s giant one. They had to wait a couple seconds, but sure enough the movement happened again. 

“Well I’ll be goddamned … ain’t that something?”

There was a measure of awe in Bobby’s voice that had Dean choking up a little. The three of them stayed there for almost half an hour before the baby settled down. It was probably one of the most surreal afternoons Dean had spent in his entirely too fucked up life, but in a _good_ way. Each time the baby would move, he would call out to Sam and his brother would rush over to share the experience with him. 

For the next several days there was an excited, happy atmosphere permeating through the house. Sam had hung up a calendar on the fridge counting the months and days down to what they approximated would be nine months. Figuring on the date of his magical ‘conception’, Sam’s best guess had Dean at almost five months along and the baby with a possible August due date. 

It was all going pretty well, until a random Tuesday during his fifth month. Sam had run into town to get them something to eat that wasn’t a sandwich or boxed dinner, and Bobby was mumbling and cursing into his phone to a hunter chasing a Wendigo in Oregon. Dean was descending the stairs after a nice long nap to grab something to drink in the kitchen. 

At this point, he’d gotten used to the movement of the little person hitching a ride in his gut, but this time something different happened. Her little elbow or knee jabbed roughly into what felt like his kidney and an intense spike of pain lanced through his entire body. Dean gasped in shock … and missed the next step on the stairs. He had the momentary presence of mind to shift he weight backwards so that he wouldn’t tumble forward and land on his stomach. 

His tailbone cracked hard on the wood step and he scrambled desperately to protect his belly as gravity and momentum tossed him downward until he rolled to a stop at the bottom of the staircase. 

“DEAN!”

Bobby was on him as soon as he’d come to a stop. 

“DEAN!”

The old man was damn near frantic above him, and Dean really wanted to reassure him that he was fine, but he currently couldn’t convince any oxygen to suck into his lungs. Of course, as luck would have it, that would be the exact moment that Sam walked in the front door not five feet away from them. Dean couldn’t see him, being his eyes were still clenched shut, but he heard the sound of their supper hitting the floor just about the same time his brother’s voice bellowed his name. 

“DEAN!! WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT’S GOING ON?”

Bobby grunted, voice broken with worry. 

“I don’t know! He just fell down the fucking stairs!”

A desperate keening sound broke from Sam’s lips and warm hands were suddenly smoothing across Dean’s face and skull, presumably searching for a head injury. The air that had been stolen from his lungs finally decided to return and Dean gasped as he sucked in a breath. He opened his eyes and looked up at the two men hovering above him. 

“DEAN!”

His little brother looked like he was about two seconds from bursting into tears, or worse, calling an ambulance. So Dean reached out to grip the younger man’s shirt in his fingers. 

“M’okay, Sammy … I … I think.”

His back was burning and aching from the fall, but he’d suffered enough broken bones in his lifetime to know that he’d been lucky and missed out on _that_ particular pleasure. He was also pretty sure that he hadn’t cracked his head on anything, and had managed to protect his swollen belly from any of the impact. As if to reassure him, a little elbow or knee took the opportunity to spear right into his bladder and he sucked in a curse. 

“What? Dean! What?”

Sam was clutching Dean’s arm like a lifeline. Dean took a deep sigh and tried to push his current calm demeanor into his brother through that connection. 

“Little one just jabbed me in the bladder. Lettin’ us know she was okay.”

A brilliant smile broke the dimples free on his brother’s face, and finally Sammy sat back on his haunches and practically deflated into a sag. 

“What _happened_ , Dean?”

Dean shifted experimentally and Bobby helped him to slowly sit up. His tailbone flared in pain and he flinched. There was going to be one hell of a bruise on his ass come morning. 

“Dunno … I was coming down the stairs, and she moved … but I think she jabbed my kidney or something and it shocked me enough that I missed a step.”

Between Bobby and Sam, they got him hefted up off the floor and over to the couch. Besides his tailbone nothing felt too damaged, and he sighed as he sank into the worn cushions of the couch. Sam immediately went to the bookshelf and snatched up the much abused _‘What To Expect When Your Expecting’_ and began flipping through the pages. 

“Is that _normal_?”

Dean sighed. 

“I don’t know. Maybe? How the hell would I know, Sammy? Not like I have any _experience_ in this fucking area, is it?”

Sam sighed and collapsed into one of the sitting chairs. 

“Not like _any_ of us do. Or even _know_ anyone who does.”

Bobby suddenly stood up straight and smacked himself on the forehead with his palm. 

“DAMMIT! I’m so stupid!”

With those words still ringing in the air, he snatched up his cell phone and stormed out of the house. Sam and Dean could only watch him go, and then turn back to meet each other’s gaze shrugging helplessly. Sam went back to the foyer to salvage what he could of their dinner. 

Half an hour later Bobby walked back in the door followed closely by Sherriff Jodie Mills. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

To say that Sheriff Mills’ reaction to the situation had been … unexpected … would likely be the understatement of the year. If not the decade. First was shock, which _was_ to be expected. Then was denial, solved easily by Dean having to bare his belly and wait for the next movement of the baby. The hysterical _laughter_ that followed kind of blew them all for a loop, though. 

Once she’d, quite literally, picked herself up off the floor Mills apologized for her outburst and just mumbled something about divine retribution for all womankind. Which made Dean scoot a couple feet further away from her and snag a nearby bag of M&M’s. 

After recovering from her reaction to Dean’s situation, Mills was actually a hell of an asset to have around. She and Bobby and Sam went through nearly every damn page of that fucking pregnancy book, asking Dean questions relentlessly and comparing female pregnancy to male pregnancy. 

Sam was apparently going to write a fucking _novel_ on the subject judging by all the notes he was taking. Which made Dean scoff and grouch. 

“You think this is actually going to happen to some _other_ poor asshole?”

The younger man just shrugged his shoulders, gave Dean a puppy look, and went back to writing. Dean sighed and stretched out on the couch. Sheriff Mills spent every moment she could at the Singer/Winchester abode from then on out. Dean often wondered if the woman actually _worked_ at all anymore. 

Time was kind of strange and fluid after that. Dean knew it was passing, because he watched Sam mark each day off the calendar right before bed every night. But all the moments in between just began to blend together like one long, boring repetitive roller coaster. There would be good days, when Dean felt awesome and excited and there was no pain. 

Then there would be _bad_ days. When the growing life inside him would press against his insides, and for several seconds he would be unable to breathe from the agony. They never spoke about it out loud, but Doctor Morgan’s parting words about a male body being unable to carry a pregnancy to term had begun to jab into Dean’s brain just like the little elbows and knees inside him. 

He knew from the pictures in the damn book that a woman at seven months along should have a nicely rounded belly, making plenty of room for the tiny body developing inside. Dean’s stomach did have a decidedly noticeable swell. His abdominal definition had disappeared ( _much to his dismay_ ) but at most, he just looked like a man who had let himself go with too much beer and couch potato time. 

His baby bump was a _fraction_ of the images he looked up of women at seven months. Which meant, obviously, that the majority of the kid was developing right smack in the middle of his internal organs, maybe even poking near his chest cavity. Which would explain the lovely shortness of breath he had been experiencing as of late. 

Dean woke feeling miserable one morning, and apparently the little spitfire had been playing soccer with his bladder during the night, because he’d pissed himself. He’d _pissed himself_ in bed. He opened his mouth to call out for Sam and was taken by surprise when it morphed into a sob. The next thing he knew, Dean was weeping uncontrollably into his pillow for absolutely no reason he could think of. 

_Well. Except for the fact that he was pregnant. And a man. And fat. And it fucking sucked. And he’d peed all over himself like a little kid. And he was completely miserable._

So he cried. 

It only took a couple minutes until Sam was racing into the room from across the hall, nearly tripping on his pajama bottoms and hair all tussled with sleep. Dean took one look at his brother’s toned abs and started to sob harder. He punched at his pillow a couple times in frustration. 

“Dean?”

His brother’s large, warm hands were on his back rubbing calming circles into his skin, and Dean jammed his face into the pillow beneath him and screamed out his rage and dismay. The trembling hands on his back stilled. Sam’s voice was broken when he called out Dean’s name again, but Dean just kept screaming and sobbing until there was just nothing left inside him. 

When he finally calmed and came back to his senses, both of Sam’s hands were holding his face and his thumbs were gently smoothing over Dean’s cheeks, wiping away tears. Thick tracks of moisture had mottled Sam’s _own_ skin, and his eyes were red and glassy. Dean shook his head just slightly within his brother’s grasp. 

“I … I can’t _do_ this … Sammy … I can’t… I can’t … ”

His voice was sandpaper rough and broken and the words burned his damaged throat. Sam didn’t speak, just shifted until he was gingerly helping Dean off the bed. He steered his older brother into the bathroom they shared and stripped him of his dirty sweats, tossing them into the hamper in the corner. Sam turned on the tap, warmed the water temperature, and then soaked a wash cloth. Wringing most of the water back out, he handed the rag to Dean and then slipped out the door. All without saying a word. 

Refusing to look at himself in the mirror, Dean washed his face with the warm cloth, and quickly ran it over his body concentrating on the areas previously damp from his pants. Sam stepped back into the room with a clean pair of Dean’s sweats and a giant threadbare red t-shirt that was actually Sam’s. He held the pants out for Dean to step into and pulled them carefully up his legs to his bulging waist. Then he put the shirt over Dean’s head and helped him get his arms through the sleeves. 

Part of Dean was rebelling at everything that was happening. He didn’t need to be coddled and babied. Especially not by his little brother. Another part of him, however … the _louder_ part, was just craving some human fucking _contact_. It was the part that didn’t balk at all when Sam took his hand at led him back to his brother’s bedroom to lie down on the clean mattress. It was the part that didn’t even squirm in discomfort when Sam crawled in bed after him and tucked his body close around Dean’s. It was the part that really sort of liked when Sam snaked an arm around him to rest his hand on the swell of his belly, and then whispered softly in his ear. 

“You can do this, Dean. I know you can.”

Dean slept like the contented dead for the rest of the night. 

The sound of Bobby greeting Sheriff Mills downstairs finally woke Dean the next morning. He was disoriented for a few moments until he remembered the last night and that he was currently in Sam’s bed instead of his own. The very next thing he noticed was that he wasn’t in Sam’s bed _alone_. 

His brother was completely plastered against him. Spooned up behind him, with his arms wrapped tightly around Dean’s chest and one long leg shoved between his. Warm puffs of breath were tickling Dean’s neck where Sam was apparently snugged up behind him on the pillow. 

_Huh. Awkward._

He closed his eyes again and debated the easiest way to extract himself from the situation. It’s not like he wasn’t used to Sam turning Dean into his personal teddy bear … but that had been _years_ ago, when Sam was still little and had nightmares at night. They’d actually shared a bed up until Sam split for college. Unless Dad wasn’t around to snag the other. Which yeah… had led to a couple embarrassing situations … but this was a bit different than that. 

For one thing, the last time they’d had to split a hotel bed, Sam had been seventeen, still thin and gangly. Not the flippin’ _man-mountain_ he’d become in adulthood. For another thing … Dean was sort of currently knocked up with the other man’s baby. _And yeah, that was never going to sound anything but fucking crazy._ So the idea of spooning with Sam twisted him in two directions. 

About 45% of his brain said this was _wrong wrong wrong_ and he needed to nip this in the fucking bud right now. Tell Sam he couldn’t just take Dean to his own bed and cuddle up to him like a lover. Because no matter what other crazy shit was going on in their lives, they were _brothers_ … and they needed that boundary between them. 

The other 55%, however, was kind of shrugging its shoulders and saying _‘what the hell.’_ Their lives were already so fucked up to begin with … what’s a little incestuous snuggling? The previous nights breakdown signaled that Dean obviously needed _something_ to help him get through this, and it wasn’t like he could get it from some other source, really. 

Not to even mention the fact that they were both too fixated on the existence of the other, and always had been. Their lives were woven too tightly around each other, more so than any other set of brothers Dean had ever run across. And let’s face it, the Winchester Moral Compass has been fucked to shit and pointing due South for _years_. What’s one _more_ little sin really gonna do at _this_ point? 

Dean sighed and allowed himself to relax back in Sam’s embrace. Not that he would admit out loud, but it felt sort of nice to have someone bigger and stronger holding him safe. Sam made a snuffling noise behind him and clenched his arms tighter for a second. Without thinking about it, Dean brought his arms up to cover his brother’s. 

There was a soft giggle from the doorway that he instantly recognized as Sheriff Mills. Bobby shushed her quietly. 

“Let them sleep. I think Dean had a rough night.”

Mills sighed and there was a suspicious clicking noise that sounded an awful lot like a camera. _Son of a bitch._ She whispered through a couple more clicks. 

“They’re so cute, though, Bobby! Maybe we should have a shotgun wedding. Sam can make an honest woman out of Dean.”

Bobby downright _giggled,_ the fucking traitor. 

“Don’t let Dean hear you say that. Now come on.”

There was a soft swish of noise, and the door to Sam’s bedroom gently closed. Dean let out a frustrated breath, and then realized that Sam was shaking behind him. His face was plastered to the back of Dean’s neck, and the telltale sounds of his brother stifling laughter were sending shivers through Dean’s skin. 

“Are you laughing back there, you asshole?”

Sam’s chuckles finally broke free, his warm breath ghosting over Dean’s neck. Dean shook his head and attempted to slip from his brother’s grip, but Sam just tightened his giant fucking arms and pulled him back. One of his large hands smoothed down Dean’s torso and came to rest on the swell of his belly. 

“Did you sleep okay? No more breakdowns?”

Dean couldn’t find any words. This was a way too fucking _intimate_ moment to be having after the recent train of thoughts that had steamrolled through his brain. He could feel his face flush with embarrassment. Sam raised himself to one elbow and leaned over so he could see Dean’s face. Dean slammed his eyes closed before he could meet his brothers’ concerned gaze. 

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean chuckled mirthlessly and sighed. 

“What _isn’t_ wrong with all this, Sam?”

Sam answered his sigh, and the hand on Dean’s belly disappeared. A second later warm fingertips were skimming down the side of Dean’s face. Almost against his better judgment, Dean allowed himself to fall backwards into the space that had opened up between them. It left him on his back below Sam’s raised torso, but as long as he didn’t open his eyes he could get away without acknowledging the fact that his brother was hovering so closely over him. 

“You’re thinking too much, Dean.”

 _Damn._ Sam was so close that Dean could feel the breath from his words on his cheeks. The warm fingers on his face started to trace his features. Over his eyebrows, down his nose, across his mouth and to his chin. They ran back up his jaw before coming to stop over his lips. Just a gentle pressure resting there even as Dean spoke against them. 

“I’m thinking too much, Sam? About what? The fact I’m having my brother’s baby? Or maybe the fact that I’m currently in his _bed_ , apparently teetering on the edge of falling into an incestuous relationship? Which one am I thinking too much about, Sammy?”

The fingers on his mouth began tracing the outline of his lips, but he received no other response. Finally braving the view above him, Dean opened his eyes. Sam had been intently staring at Dean’s mouth, utter concentration on his face, but when Dean’s eyes had fluttered open his gaze had immediately shifted to meet his brother‘s. 

Dean wasn’t really sure how many minutes they stayed frozen in place, just looking at each other, but then Sam suddenly grinned big and bright. He dropped down to smack a loud, exaggerated kiss onto the side of Dean’s neck, and then pushed himself up to a seated position. After a moments pause he dropped down again, this time to Dean’s belly, and smacked another loud kiss to the swell. 

“Come on, you two … time for breakfast.”

Dean just watched him, eyes wide with shock, as Sam crawled from the mattress and slipped on a t-shirt. Then he came over to the bed and pulled the covers off Dean and manhandled him up to his feet. He ushered him into their shared bathroom and proceeded to go about his morning routine. Piss, brush, floss, shave, deodorant. Shower could wait for later. He had to push Dean towards the toilet in order to snap him out of his shocked state and into his own routine. 

The rest of the day was just as odd. Sam stood closer to Dean. Sat closer to Dean. Touched him more. Hovered just out of reach most of the time that he was around. Dean was pretty sure his eyeballs were going to permanently dry out as many times as they’d been opened wide in shock throughout the day. It was as if Dean saying the words out loud in bed that morning had flipped a switch in Sam’s brain, and suddenly permission had been given for him to treat Dean as a lover, not a brother. 

Bobby and Sheriff Mills were eyeing them strangely as well, but Dean was generally just too stunned to ask them about it. He had to admit, though, there had been a certain level of comfort … being doted on a little. Maybe it was just the hormones talking, but it was the first time since this began that Dean didn’t feel like he was in this all alone. It was as if he was suddenly just one half of a happy expectant couple, instead of a scared single parent. _And wow, that was one fucked up thought._

After dinner Sam had followed him upstairs and started the shower while Dean grabbed some clean pajamas from his room. He glanced over to his bed and was surprised to see it stripped of its bedding and his pillow missing. Pursing his lips in thought, he drifted back over to the bathroom, but Sam was nowhere in sight. Shrugging his shoulders Dean closed the door and shucked off his clothes. 

The shower felt fucking amazing. He stood for several moments and just let the heat sluice down his aching back. A soft click and a large shadow on the other side of the curtain alerted him to Sam’s presence in the bathroom. He could hear the gentle rustle of clothes as his brother shed them before the curtain pulled back enough to admit him into the shower stall. 

Dean swallowed past the huge lump in his throat. This was stepping over another boundary yet again. The heat of a large body crowded up behind him and Dean closed his eyes. He could feel arms reach around him to snag the bar soap from the cradle. Then his brother’s large hands were washing the days sweat off Dean’s body. He kept his eyes closed and let Sam push and pull him around the stall, letting his brother adjust him however he needed in order to clean. 

His eyes remained closed as Sam quickly cleaned his own body and then replaced the soap back in the cradle. Then he gently titled Dean’s head back beneath the spray to wet down his hair. In his own mind Dean kept trying to justify his brother’s actions as well as his own easy acceptance of them. Nothing seemed to answer all the questions raging around inside his brain adequately enough. 

Fingers were scrubbing shampoo into his hair, and fuck that felt better than he ever thought it could. There really was no denying that something had shifted between him and Sam. Somehow his lapse in control the previous evening had changed everything. Dean had been as strong as he could for as long as he could, but last night he’d clearly broken. And Sam was having to put him back together. 

It was just … that Sam was putting him back together as a different creature. Not just a big brother. Something else. 

Dean’s head was tilted back again to rinse the lather from his hair. Some of the water tracked in rivulets down his face and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly to keep any shampoo from burning them. His mouth opened with a tiny gasp when a trickle of water tickled down the side of his nose. He was just about to wonder what he must look like in Sam’s eyes, when his brother groaned and pulled Dean out of the spray. 

_“Fuck.”_

Sam’s voice was breathy and broken. He gently maneuvered Dean to the back of the stall and then his hands fell away. Mentally kicking himself for giving in to temptation, Dean wiped the water from him eyes, then opened them. Sam’s back was to him and he was lathering up his own hair in quick, stilted motions. 

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Dean had known, peripherally, that his brother had gotten massive. But he obviously had never been this close to Sam naked in the last couple years. The younger man’s back and shoulders were broad as a fucking bus. Arched wide and defined with muscles. Dean had a momentary flashback to skinny little Sammy getting picked on by bullies at school because he was so small for his age. That kid was definitely gone. 

Before he could stop himself, Dean chuckled deep in his throat. 

Sam had been in the middle of rinsing his hair out, but he turned to meet Dean’s eyes at his soft laugh, and they both froze in place. Dean wasn’t sure what Sam was seeing in his face, but his own thoughts were hedging somewhere near _‘holy fuck Sam is hot’_ which naturally morphed into _‘holy fuck I should not be thinking that Sam is hot’._ Sam’s lips quirked a little into a grin, then he quickly finished rinsing his hair and turned off the spray of water. 

Now that his eyes were open, Dean was resolutely demanding his gaze to stay above the waistline, because he really didn’t need to go _there. (The almost natural ‘yet’ that followed that thought had him swallowing convulsively.)_ They both stepped out of the tub at the same time and Sam handed Dean his towel. Drying as quickly as he could manage, Dean slipped into his sleeping clothes and proceeded to brush his teeth and wash his face in the sink. 

A couple times he glanced up into the mirror to find Sam watching him with an odd expression on his face, but he would quickly look away. Finally, when they were both finished and stepped out of the bathroom Dean had a moment of indecision. His bed had been bare and his pillow missing … he had a pretty good idea where it had migrated to … but that would be a pretty final step over the line. Probably no turning back from there. 

He stood still and silent in the dark hall. Sam was a stoic sentinel in the background. It had to be Dean’s decision. He took a deep, calming breath and turned to walk into Sam’s bedroom. Others opinions didn’t really matter to him, Dean just knew he couldn’t continue the way he’d been before. Not after today. Not after feeling he was part of a pair, and not just on his own to deal with all the insanity. 

Sure enough, his pillow was waiting for him on the left side of Sam’s bed. Dean’s preferred side. Not letting himself think any further than _sleep sleep sleep,_ Dean crawled under the covers and lay on his side, back presented to Sam’s side of the bed. The little spitfire shifted around a bit after he settled, but she seemed to be content where she was for the moment. 

Sam moved around the room, closing the door and curtains, shutting of the lamp and shucking his shirt off before finally crawling in behind Dean. He tugged the blankets high up to their shoulders before he scooted right up to Dean’s back, bare skin warming Dean instantly. Sam’s arm slipped over Dean’s side so that his hand could come to rest on the baby bump. 

“How is she tonight?”

It was the first words Dean could remember either of them speaking for hours. Not since the heavy atmosphere had begun to gather around them after dinner. He licked his dry lips before speaking. 

“Content for now, I think.”

Sam _‘hmmed’_ appreciatively next to his ear before burrowing his face into the back of Dean’s neck. His hand started to rub little circles on Dean’s belly as his lips moved against skin while he spoke. 

“Sleep, Dean.”

Dean nearly burst into hysterical laughter and screeched _‘seriously!?’_ , but surprisingly, his brother’s touch made him drift right off in an astonishingly short period of time. And once again, he had a fantastic night’s sleep. 

~*~

It was still pitch black in the room when something woke him. At first he thought it may have been the baby shifting, but the mouth moving at the back of his neck disavowed him of that notion pretty quickly. Warm lips were trailing tentatively back and forth on his skin. Sam’s huge body was still wrapped around him. Dean shivered at the touch, and the lips on his neck stilled. 

“Dean?”

The voice was a whisper of damp heat into his neck and it shocked a soft gasp out of him. Teeth delicately nibbled at the joint of his neck and shoulder at his response. Without even realizing it, Dean arched his neck further back to provide better access. The teeth softly chewed at his skin for a few more seconds before lips replaced them, sucking heat to the surface. 

“Sam…”

God, his voice sounded rougher than _shit_.

“… are we … really gonna do this?”

The warm mouth left his neck and swept upwards to start nibbling at his jaw. Dean whimpered at the touch, and pushed backwards until Sam had to shift and allow him to move from his side to lying flat on the bed, and just like that their faces were millimeters apart. Sam’s eyes glittered in the dark, but Dean could make out the emotions flashing across them. Dean licked his lips and a punch of need hit his gut when Sam tracked the motion with his gaze. 

“Are we, Sam? Cuz this is pretty messed up … even for _us_.”

Sam leaned forward just enough to lick a searing stripe of heat across Dean’s spit-slick bottom lip. His voice was gravel and sex when he finally spoke. 

“Yeah.”

That was the only warning Dean had before lips were sealed against his and a scalding tongue plunged deep into his open mouth. A sharp intake of air whistled through his nose in surprise, but never let it be said that Dean Winchester wasn’t a responsive son of a bitch. He tilted his head for a better angle and laved against the hot tongue in his mouth. Then it was pretty much _on._

Dean had always been dominating in the sack, but apparently his shy sweet brother had grown up to become a fucking aggressive _toppy_ bastard. They fought viciously for control of the kiss. Pressure and teeth and Dean’s blunt nails scraping trails down Sam’s back, but after a while Sam was just too hungry for it so Dean allowed himself to be the submissive. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had just a slow make out session that didn’t evolve into something more, maybe high school. Sam had cautiously rested some of his weight against Dean’s chest, taking care to keep away from his belly. After God knows how many minutes their frantic motions had crawled down to a lazy exploration, before Sam finally drew his mouth away and tucked his face into Dean’s neck with a throaty sigh. 

They both shifted around until they were in a comfortable enough sleeping position, each still wound tightly around the other. Sam nuzzled into Dean’s neck as if he was attempting to find a way to just crawl inside his brother’s skin. It was completely silent for several moments. Dean was busy inside his head processing the last twenty-four hours and all the radical changes that had shaken his very foundation. 

_First and foremost, the fact that he had just made out with his little brother._

_Who tasted suspiciously like the Nutter Butters that had gone missing from Dean’s secret stash._

The absurdity of that thought forced a bubbly giggle from his lips unbidden. He could feel Sam’s corresponding smile against his neck. Dean chuckled again. Sam snorted into his skin. And just like that they both broke into hysterical peals of laughter. All the strange tension that had been engulfing them since Dean slept in Sam’s bed the previous night washed away in light of their amusement. 

When they finally calmed down, Sam lifted his head to gaze down at Dean, his eyes were sparkling with happiness. At that moment Dean knew they would be okay. However this played out. They’d be alright. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

_He was a whale._

_He was a fucking beached whale._

_Just roll him back into the ocean and be done with it, because Dean Winchester had officially had_ enough. 

Eight and a half fucking months and he was so goddamn miserable he didn’t even know what to do with himself anymore. According to Sam he had two more weeks until he hit the nine month mark, and they would have to figure out a way to get the baby out. Dean didn’t even care about the whole being sliced open bit anymore, he was so ready to get his fucking body back to _himself._

At nearly full term, his belly had finally reached _‘definitely pregnant’_ appearance. Granted, the size of the swell was barely a six or seven month baby bump for most women, but it was big enough to make Dean absolutely _miserable_. His skin was stretched tight and painfully sore, not at all soft and supple like the pictures on the fucking internet seemed. 

The little spitfire had also apparently taken up Zumba classes the last several weeks to boot. She was just constantly moving around. Kicking and punching, and damn if she wasn’t going to be a hell of a fighter someday. Unfortunately, every third kick or so hit something vital inside him and had resulted in several panicked moments in the Singer/Winchester/Mills household. 

_Yeah… Mills._

Damned if the woman hadn’t moved in with Bobby. Having their bedroom only two doors down gave Dean the heebie-jeebies almost nightly. To which Sam would kindly point out that if Bobby and Jodie didn’t have a problem with two brothers being _‘involved‘_ , then Dean could just suck it up and deal with their relationship. 

It almost made Dean grateful he had never been forced to walk in on his parents doing the dirty as a kid. 

_Almost._

He groaned has he looked across the five foot expanse to the coffee table where the remote sat there teasing him. Sam had run upstairs for a quick shower and had forgotten to hand Dean the damn thing. So now he either had to deal with a Jerry Springer rerun, or actually roll his fat ass off the couch to retrieve the thing. 

_Tough call._

But … _ooooooooo_ … if he got up… he could go snag Sammy’s _‘hidden’_ bag of gummy worms from under the flaxseed chips in the pantry. _HA! His brother thought he was so smart. Dean could sniff out junk food like a fucking bloodhound._

Sighing, he hefted himself to the side and ever so slowly ( _and awkwardly_ ) rolled to his feet. The little spitfire jolted in his belly, obviously woken for her lazy day of _‘nap nap kick punch nap nap nap, make Daddy nearly pee himself, nap’_. He patted a soft cadence of thumps with his fingers against his swollen middle. For some reason she liked that. He’d been trying to drum out some Zeppelin to her the other day. He couldn’t tell if the responding kick had been in agreement or aversion. 

She settled, and Dean slowly made his way into the kitchen. The shower was off upstairs, so Sam was probably just mucking around in the nursery again. He and Jodie had been making regular trips out to thrift stores and garage sales to build up the room for the imminent arrival. And speak of the devil, the back door opened and Sheriff Mills strode into the kitchen decked out in full uniform. 

“Afternoon, Dean.”

He tipped his head at the woman as he rummaged in the pantry behind the stack of Sam’s health food. 

“Sheriff. Done making the world safer for pregnant men and grouchy old codgers?”

Mills cackled her rough bark of a laugh that Dean was actually pretty fond of. She was busy depositing her gear on her personal side table.

“Them’s my two favorite kinds of people … and if you’re looking for those gummy worms, he moved them yesterday. There’s some nice homemade granola the next shelf up if you’re looking for something sweet.”

Dean grouched and pursed his lips. They were _all_ against him lately. Sighing in defeat, he reached up to snag the tin of granola … when his entire world burst at the seams. 

Something inside him _ripped._

He only had a single second to suck in a surprised gasp of air before excruciating pain was cleaving his insides to shreds. Dean screamed. He screamed fucking _bloody murder_ , and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He could feel Sheriff Mill’s hands on him almost instantly helping to break his fall to the floor. Her voice was a background buzzing in his ears. 

“BOBBY!!! SAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!”

The old wooden cabinets were suddenly at his back and Mills was frantically petting his face. Thick coppery blood was filling his mouth and he could feel it spilling over his lips and down his chin as he continued to scream himself hoarse. 

The front door slammed open as Bobby hurtled into the house just as Sam jumped down the last five steps and darted quickly into the kitchen. 

“OH MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED!?”

Mills was shaking her head and repeating that she didn’t know as Sam sank to his knees besides Dean. His hands desperately roved over Dean’s body searching for injuries. 

“Dean! You have to tell me! You have to tell me what’s happening!”

 _Well, Sammy … I would fucking LOVE to … if only it didn’t currently feel like one of those face-suckers from Aliens was trying to rip its way out of my gut._ Dean coughed violently and drops of blood flecked Sam’s face. Pushing the pain as far into his subconscious as he could, Dean grabbed one of his brother’s roving hands. 

“Sam.”

The younger man gasped and turned to meet Dean’s gaze. The fear in his hazel eyes was palpable.

“Dean? Tell me! Please! God-”

Dean sucked in a gurgled breath. 

“Have to … get her. Get her out. Sammy.”

Sam shook his head frantically.

“It’s not time yet! Two more weeks before-”

Dean clenched his brother’s hand as hard as he could.

“Don’t think … she cares… about _time tables_ , Sam.”

Bobby and Jodie were already in action, even as Sam sat stunned for a split second. They had already put together an _‘emergency kit’_ just in case something happened and they needed to cut Dean open prematurely. Jodie threw a giant, thick blanket on the floor as Bobby ran to the bathroom to retrieve the sealed tub of sterilized scalpels and gloves. Mills had to call Sam’s name three times before he turned towards her. 

“What?”

She was scooting up to the opposite side of Dean’s slouched form. 

“Help me get him on the blanket, Sam.”

They gingerly shifted Dean forward to lay flat on the comforter. A violent movement inside him had Dean crying out in pain again. An answering sob of desperation broke from his brother’s lips. 

“Dean-”

Concentrating as hard as he could, Dean met his brother’s eyes. Tears were streaking uncontrollably down Sam’s face, and he’d latched on to one of Dean’s hands with a vice-like grip. 

“S’okay, Sammy. S’okay … just … get her out. Dun’ worry ‘bout me.”

Sam violently shook his head in denial. 

“You promised, Sammy. Her first … you _promised_.”

Bobby’s knees cracked on the floor as he slammed down next to Sheriff Mills. He broke the seal on the plastic tub and immediately began to hand out sterilized gloves to everyone. Jodie quickly and efficiently rolled Dean’s t-shirt all the way up under his armpits, and tugged down his sweats and boxers as far as they could go without exposing him to all and sundry. Even torn up in agony, Dean appreciated the thought. 

Bobby doused Dean’s belly liberally with iodine, making sure to cover every bit of exposed skin. He flicked a quick glace up to Sam. 

“Sam. SAM!”

Finally the younger Winchester turned to the older man, but he didn’t speak. 

“SAM! Pull it together, son! Get the blankets for the baby! And don’t forget the warm water!”

Sam jerked in surprise, like he’d just realized he was being completely unhelpful. He shot to his feet and dashed up the stairs taking two or three at a time. They’d put together some blankets to swaddle the infant with, and some clean sterile rags to wipe her down. Dean watched the empty space were Sam had been for several seconds and sobbed a little at the loss. Small, callused hands brushed his hair back. 

“It’s okay, Dean. He’ll be right back. You just concentrate on yourself now, sweetheart.”

He clenched his eyes closed and tried not to tense when Bobby spoke softly to Jodie. 

“Let’s get this part done before Sam gets back.”

There was a metallic scraping of scalpels being removed from the tub, then something gently touched his lips. 

“Bit down on this, Dean.”

He opened his mouth without opening his eyes, and the taste of leather exploded over his tongue. Biting into what was most likely a belt, another sob wracked his frame at the knowledge of what was about to happen. Above him, Bobby sniffled and blew out a shuddering breath. 

“I’m so sorry about this, son.”

Then all of Dean’s pain was narrowed down to the burning horror of thin metal slicing through his skin right below his swollen belly. He clenched so hard on the leather in his mouth that his jaw popped and screamed around the hide as loud as he could manage. Thundering footsteps announced the return of Sam.

“Oh my God! Bobby! _Oh my God!_ ”

Through clenched teeth of his own, Bobby finished the incision. 

“Keep it together, Sam.”

The scalpel clattered back into the box, and Dean gasped as he could feel Bobby stretch him open. Flashbacks of Hell and the rack jumped uninvited into Dean’s head. Being gutted again and again. Watching his insides become his outsides. He sobbed against the leather when he could feel hands reach inside him and tug. He could remember Alastair doing something so very similar. 

A hot flush of liquid spilled out of the incision and down his sides, soaking into the blanket. The heavy, cloying smell of blood assaulted his nose. 

“DAMMIT! I guess that was the remainder of the uterus.”

He wanted to open his eyes. He really did. But he just couldn’t make himself. There was another tug, and something large passed through the gaping hole in his stomach. He heard the three people surrounding him all gasp and clenched his eyes tighter. 

_If she was a monster … he didn’t want to see. If she was anything other than perfect … he didn’t want to see. If he had gone through these near nine months of misery for anything other than a little baby for Sam … he couldn’t bear to look._

“Well … I’ll be goddamn…”

The gruff words from Bobby were so heavily laden with awe and wonder that Dean felt something inside himself unclench.

“… Dean was right… a little girl.”

There was a flurry of motion above him, and he listened to Jodie Mills rub and clean and whisper hopeful little words, and then a burst of a baby’s cry echoed off the walls. Sam broke into happy sobs next to him and Dean finally opened his eyes. 

The world was pale and a bit blurry, but he could see the three adults hunched over a bundle of blankets at his side. He could tell they were cleaning the baby up and Bobby was having Sam snip off the remainder of the magically created umbilical cord. Dean sighed and Jodie turned back his way. Pulling the leather from his mouth she smiled gently down at him. 

“She’s _perfect_ , Dean.”

Sparks of light were twinkling across his vision. Shifting constellations dancing before the cracks in Bobby’s kitchen ceiling. He tried to move his lips to answer her, but his tongue was thick and heavy. He was suddenly just too tired to even think. The world swam out of focus and darkened. 

“Dean? DEAN!”

Her tone had a new, frantic pitch, and it was answered by Sam and Bobby nearby. But their voices were drifting away from Dean’s ears. A giant shadow loomed over him, and he could recognize the ridiculously floppy hair of his brother. 

“DEAN! Don’t you do this, Dean! Don’t you dare!”

_Sammy … not like I have any other choice at the moment._

He was just so _tired._ Spent. The pain was even a muted sensation in the background now. Vaguely, he could feel hands working at his middle, and hear Sheriff Mills on her radio. 

_Bad idea. Can’t explain to paramedics about cutting a baby out of a man, Jodie._

Sam’s face was just a blur of shapes now, but Dean could feel his large warm hands stroking his forehead and cheeks. 

“Please, Dean. Please. Not you, too. Please, not you, too.”

The cry of a baby rang out in the chaos of the kitchen. Like his little spitfire knew something was wrong with her daddy. 

_Her first, Sam. You promised._

“You still need to see her, Dean. You still need to name her. You never told me what you wanted to name her.”

Sam’s voice was broken with sobs, and he continued to run his fingers gently across Dean’s face. 

_That was an easy one. Already decided that one months ago._

Forcing his tongue to move the blood past his lips and the words from his mouth, Dean gasped wetly. 

“MaryJo Ellen … Sam … Sam … MaryJo Ellen.”

Then the world spiraled out around him in blacks and whites … before fading to nothing. 

~*~

There was a soft, gentle cadence of a rumble somewhere in the darkness. A deep, cooing whisper of words coming from a very familiar voice. It was followed by a bubbling, gurgle of a giggle that he didn’t recognize at all. It sounded so _small_. 

The world was nothing but darkness and pain, and he really didn’t want to thrust himself back into it, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was something very important waiting for him if he tried. He forced himself closer to the surface of awareness, focusing on the voice so close by. 

“You’re such a little thing, aren’t you? Are you going to be short like your Daddy? Huh?”

_Sam._

A squealing peal of noise responded to his brother’s soft words and Sam chuckled. 

_Oh God. A baby. His baby. Their baby. He’d actually had a baby._

“That’s it, MaryJo … you tell Daddy he’s slept enough … we want him to wake up.”

The words should have been light-hearted and happy, but there was an oppressive sadness to them instead. Sam sounded defeated and barely hanging on. Fighting harder towards consciousness, Dean worried what had made his brother sound that way. He tried to open his eyes, but his body was still unresponsive to his demands. 

Sensation started to prickle back into his extremities. He could tell he was on a bed, but it was too firm to be one of the mattresses at the house. There was the dull pinprick of an IV in his arm, and that annoying press of a cannula feeding him oxygen under his nose, but no ever-present beeping or antiseptic smell of a hospital. 

Slow footsteps came into the room. Dean recognized Sheriff Mills voice as she conversed with Sam. 

“Do you want me to take her for a while, Sam?”

His brother sniffed, and Dean could almost hear his ridiculously long hair move as he shook his head. 

“No, it’s okay. We’re just going to stay and talk to Daddy a little bit more, right MaryJo?”

There was a pause of inactivity in the room for a moment. 

“Sam … the hospice nurse is going to come by this afternoon. She’s going to ask again about-”

“Just tell her no! Like always!”

Dean had never heard Sam snap at the Sheriff before. He wanted to admonish him for being rude, but it still wouldn’t come. Jodie sighed heavily, and there was a deep sorrow in the sound.

“Sam … how long are you going to-”

“Until he wakes up!”

“Sam-”

“He’s going to wake up, Jodie! Dean always comes back to me … you’ll see. He’s _going_ to wake _up_.”

The last few words were broken with anguish, and Dean decided _hell no … that was it._ No more stupid unresponsive body, he had to break the surface and let Sam know he was _here_. That he wasn’t holding out for nothing. He fought his eyelids as viciously as he used to battle werewolves and vampires. His eyelashes began a ticklish flutter against his cheek, and he wanted to rage into the air. _Take that, you bastards! Now fucking OPEN!_

Sheriff Mills gasped from a few feet away. 

“SAM!”

A flurry of noise erupted in the room, and the next thing Dean knew large hands were grasping his face gently between them. 

“That’s it, Dean! Come on! Come on! Wake up!”

_For fuck’s sake, Sam … I’m trying, already._

A small sliver of light broke through the darkness, but everything was blurry and distorted, just large shapes. He could hear Jodie hollering frantically for Bobby somewhere in the background behind Sam’s voice. 

“Please, Dean! You’re so close! Come on, baby, please!”

_Baby? Who the fuck you callin’ ‘baby’, Sammy?_

Finally, Dean beat back the vicious eyelids and a million things swam into view. The dark shape hovering over him focused and cleared into Sam’s face. Behind him, Dean could see the butter yellow walls of the nursery, and Bobby and Jodie standing in the doorway clinging to each other. Tears were tracking down Sam’s face as he broke into relieved laughter. 

“ _There_ you are… there you are.”

Pushing his heavy tongue outwards, Dean tried to lick his dry lips, but winced at his scratchy throat. Sam disappeared for a second, and when he came back something cool and wet touched Dean’s mouth. It felt like an ice cube from the freezer downstairs and tasted vaguely like sweet tea. Sam must have fished it out of his own drink. The melting water dribbled past Dean’s lips and down into his parched throat. 

_God, it was fucking Heaven._

He pursed his lips to suck on the ice cube and flexed his fingers in experimentation. They tingled a bit, but seemed to work just fine. Sam’s gaze never wavered from him. There were deep bags under his little brother’s eyes, but the excitement shining in his hazel peepers drowned out the visible exhaustion. Dean focused his gaze into Sam’s eyes and just returned the stare. Sam smiled just a little and Dean felt his mouth quirk up in response. 

He released the ice cube and worked his tongue into forming some raspy, dry words.

“Hey, Sammy.”

Which might have actually sounded more like _‘hu schmee’_ … but the grin on the other man’s face proved he understood just the same. 

“Hey, Dean.”

His eyelids began to droop again, and a hefty yawn caught him off guard. Amazing how you could be sleepy after waking up from an apparent coma, _but them’s the breaks, right?_ He kept his focus on Sam’s grinning mouth until his eyes slipped shut and sleep claimed him. 

The next time he woke up, the IV and oxygen were gone and the room was dim with night. There was a soft snore next to him, and when he turned his head he found Sam sleeping in a recliner beside his … hospital bed? _Where the hell had they found a hospital bed?_

On the other side of the recliner, he could make out the crib with a small bundled shape inside. His daughter. His _daughter_ … and he’d never even seen her. He wiggled his toes once, to make sure they still worked, before he gingerly swung his legs over to the side of the bed. Slower than molasses, Dean slid to a standing position, still gripping tight to the railing. He teetered for a moment, regaining his balance, and resolutely tried to ignore the stabbing pain low in his belly. 

Taking a tentative step, he grimaced. His legs were damn weak. It kind of pissed him off. Small, shuffling footsteps got him across the room. When he reached the crib he took a deep breath before leaning forward to peer inside. A star-shaped night light on the wall illuminated a perfect, chubby little baby wrapped in blankets. She was wearing footie pajamas, and her tiny covered feet peeked out from the pink blanket. 

_Gah… pink. That had to be Jodie’s doing._

Her cheeks were plump and full like a babies should be, and she had Dean’s pert little ski-slope nose, and his mouth with perfect little heart-shaped lips. Her hair was dark, though, and curly like Sammy’s. Her hands were big, too, with long delicate fingers. 

_Bet she’ll be tall like Sam. Amazon woman … have to beat the boys off her with a stick. Or better yet, just keep her locked up in Bobby’s safe room until she’s thirty._

“They’re green, you know? Her eyes.”

He jumped a little at Sam’s soft voice and turned to meet his gaze, still reclined in the chair. 

“Yeah?”

Voice was still rough, but getting there. Sam smiled and stretched out a long arm, palm up, beckoning Dean to him. 

“Yeah … shaped like mine, though. Come here.”

Reaching out to grasp Sam’s offered hand, he allowed himself to be carefully pulled into his brother’s lap. He tucked his face snug into Sam’s neck and wound his legs around his brother’s fleece covered ones. Sam wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s torso and leaned forward to kiss his shoulder. 

“Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Dean sighed into Sam’s warm skin. 

“What happened?”

The younger man’s throat bobbed once before he began to speak. 

“You’d lost a lot of blood and your body went into shock. Jodie called in some favors with a couple paramedics that she knows. They got you stabilized and out of danger … but then you just … wouldn’t wake up. Bobby and I figured that had more to do with the curse than anything else. This wasn’t exactly something you were supposed to survive, so … we tried everything we could think of. You just wouldn’t wake up.”

Dean hummed softly under his breath as Sam continued. 

“Bobby figured it was something that _you_ had to decide you would come out of. So we all just … took turns coming in and talking to you.”

“How long?”

Sam swallowed harshly, and his voice thickened with emotion. 

“Almost three weeks.”

_Damn, Sammy … that would have driven me crazy. I’m so sorry._

“You kept the name?”

Sam chuckled warmly and squeezed his arms a fraction. 

“Yeah. I figured they would all three get a big kick out of it. I like it. Bobby’s lip damn near wibbled when I told him. It’s a good name. MaryJo Ellen Winchester. I can practically hear you screaming it the first time she scratches the Impala.”

Dean laughed and tucked his cold toes under Sam’s calf. 

“Yeah well … good thing I was right about the girl thing. Jonathan Robert Castiel Winchester is just too much of a fucking mouthful.”

A deep boom of laughter echoed in the room when Sam voiced his amusement. Giving in to an urge, Dean brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his brother’s hair. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you. For almost leaving again.”

Sam shook his head and grinned. 

“It’s fine. You’re here now. We all are. We’re good.”

Dean answered his grin with one of his own before wrapping his arm around Sam’s chest and hugging him close. 

“Yeah. We are.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~  
THE END  
~*~*~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I haz Tumblr!!! Come say hi! :) [HERE](http://bunnymaccool.tumblr.com/)


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